Read Online No Woman No Cry by Rita Marley - Free Book Online

what they were looking for. But when her sister came to see where I’d been raised and saw that the walls of my room were decorated with pictures from magazines—like all teenagers I had put up posters and pinup pictures—Mrs. Booker’s sister wrote her to say that I was such a poor girl that I lived in a house with cardboard walls! Plus, I had a baby! So in America they were all disappointed. But by then there was nothing to be done; we were on our way.
    It wasn’t long—only eight months—before Bob decided to leave Delaware. His mother said he’d been worried about me; she was surprised that he loved me more than he loved the United States. She couldn’t understand why, even though she’d never met me. She had been sure that America was his dream, and his family there had done everything to entice him to stay—even brought him pretty girls after they found out he was married.
    But Bob had his own reasons for leaving America. Poor thing. He’d worked first in a Chrysler factory, then at the Hotel Dupont in Wilmington. When at last he gave up he wrote me, “I’m coming home, I’m sick of this place. Today, while I was vacuuming, the vacuum bag burst and all that dust went up in my face.”
    The poor boy!
    â€œIf I stay here, this is gonna kill me,” he wrote. “It will give me all kinds of sickness! I’m a singer, I’m not this, I’m coming home.”
    The whole homecoming scene was so very good—and felt so long overdue! It didn’t seem like eight months; it seemed like forever that I had waited for that moment, to see him coming out, into the terminal. And there he was looking at me, his head to the side as if he was just longing to put eyes on me, just the same way I was feeling. And poor Bob, you looked at him and you just felt sorry for him! And I keep feeling this way about him, even now. My love for him is a deep, true, lasting love, of course—but there was something about sorrying for him that still is in me. Though he had left with only one bag, now he had one over his shoulder and another, a suitcase, in his hand. We hugged and kissed, and he said, “Yeah, man, I’m back, my mother sent some things for you and Sharon and I bring a dress for you and things like that.” I just had a chance to say “Ooooh” before Dream and Aunty grabbed him. And Sharon even remembered how to say “Bahu!” We were all so glad to see him!
    But then, on the way home, he said to me, “Why you no fix up yourself, what happened to your hair?” (I was wearing it natural.) He seemed puzzled more than critical, and I guess, after American women, I looked different. With him gone, I’d been into reading and trying to confirm that whatever he had said wasn’t simply herb talk, or something he had picked up on the street. And ever since seeing the dark spot on Haile Selassie’s hand, I’d felt more secure about being a part of the Rastafarian movement.
    But the day he came home none of that stayed on my mind very long. We got home, ate dinner, played a little music, sneaked out to the alley for a little smoke, and then went straight to bed—and it was like whooo —heaven! If that’s how heaven is, fine, I want to go there!!
    And even after the first excitement wore off, I noticed a little extra affection being laid on me, whether from missing me or any other reason, I didn’t know. Whatever, I was very happy about it. Love can bring out the best in anyone, I guess. And it was great to realize all over again how much we loved each other. This is where we had a nice time. Yes, definitely, this is about a nice time.
    The little money Bob brought back was just enough to go into the studio with Bunny and Peter to record a few of his earliest songs, like “Nice Time”: “Long time we no have a nice time/ Long time I don’t see you/ this is my heart to rock you steady